Ecclesiastes
by paperstorm
Summary: Part of my Deleted Scenes series. The tag for 'The Curious Case of Dean Winchester', 5x7. Outsider POV on hinted Wincest.


**Contains dialogue from the episode 'The Curious Case of Dean Winchester'. It belongs to Eric Kripke and Sera Gamble.**

**Part of my Deleted Scenes series. Full list of fics in reading order available on my profile page. They will make more sense if read in order. :)**

* * *

"_The end of a matter is better than its beginning, and patience is better than pride." – Ecclesiastes 7:8_

The phone rings. Bobby rolls over to it – absolutely _hates_ that he has to _roll_ over to it, friggin' demons – and jams his thumb into the "talk" button. "You got somethin'?" he asks bluntly, skipping the pleasantries. It's just Dean. It's not like he's under the delusion that Bobby is a nice person to talk to, especially these days.

"Yeah, we got somethin'. I don't know _what_ we got exactly, but it's definitely somethin'," Dean's voice answers.

"Well ain't that poetic," Bobby grumbles. "You wanna share with the class?"

"You're a bag a' sunshine today," Dean grumbles back. "We found one of the missing people I mentioned earlier. The guy is supposed to be like seventy but he looks my age. He said it's a poker game. Some Irish dude finds you in a bar and puts a spell on the chips so they're years of your life. So I guess if he wins – "

"You age faster than the guy from _The Last Crusade_."

"It sounds crazy, right?"

"No, there's lore on it. Goes back centuries. Traveling card player pops into town, you beat him, you get your best years back. 'Course, most folks lose."

"Well, that would explain the crunchy corpse."

"Supposedly this player's a hell of a card shark. Got a lotta years in the bank. You find the bar he's workin' in yet?"

"There's a lotta dives in this town. I mean, we're gonna have to split up."

"Well why are you still talkin' to me?" Bobby hangs up before Dean can answer.

Everything slows down for a few minutes while Bobby thinks about what Dean said. The guy is a witch, probably. And Bobby knows better than most that witches are nasty pieces of work who promise all kinds of things to all kinds of sorry fucks and keep their word about as often as they break it just for shits and giggles. Tangling with them is a bad idea. But this one kept his promise to the man Sam and Dean just talked to. That man is young again. Which means if Bobby won …

It's the dumbest idea he's ever had. He knows that. And he's gonna do it anyway, because if there's anything on God's green that Bobby has left to lose he sure as shit doesn't know what it is. He grabs his keys as takes off as fast as his _wheels_ will carry him.

The thing is? Dying slow and bloody was part of Bobby's life plan. He's a hunter, that's the deal. No hunter gets to grow old and develop cataracts and prostate problems and die in a cushy hospital bed surrounded by loved ones. That's not the life they sign up for, and Bobby was a-okay with all of that. But being in a chair? Being put out of commission while he still has monsters to take down? Being rendered completely fuckin' _useless_ while his boys still need him? That was for _damn_ sure not on Bobby's bucket list and he's not gonna just sit around crying about it when there's something he could do to fix it. Not in this lifetime.

Sam and Dean _are_ his, that's the other thing. He has known them since Sam was a baby, when John came to him looking for information on what might have killed Mary. The poor man saw his wife suspended on the ceiling, exploding into flames, and Bobby was there to help him pick up the pieces. To teach him everything there is to know about hunting, to look after those two kids when John would take off for weeks, falling into the revenge spiral that eventually killed him just like Bobby always knew it would. Bobby lost count decades ago of the number of times those boys slept in his spare room. Sometimes they'd be at his house for weeks – one time almost four months.

John was a good man. Even after their falling out, Bobby never stopped believing that. But he was too damaged by what happened to Mary to be a good father._ Bobby_ saw Sam take his first steps. John didn't. Bobby was the one Dean would come to when he was only six years old and had the horrible burden of knowing the monsters from his nightmares were real but didn't know what that _meant_. Bobby was the one who fought John every step of the way to let those boys have at least _something_ of a childhood. Bobby was who Sam came to when he was eighteen and confused, wanting so badly to go off to college like a high-school grad is supposed to but not wanting to leave Dean; to disappoint the big brother he'd spent his whole life looking up to. And Bobby was the one who told Sam to get as far away from hunting as he could.

He watched them grow and change; he watched them cling to each other when they had nothing else – always sitting too close and looking too long and talking too quiet. He saw how much they came to need each other; he saw what that scattered, messy existence did to them and he worried every day that they'd never be normal because of it. He worried they were too much to each other; he _still_ worries that, in dark places way down deep that he doesn't ever want to acknowledge because he's terrified he might be right. John never worried about any of that. He was too busy chasing ghosts.

After John died, Bobby swore to himself that he'd take care of Sam and Dean. Those boys are _his_ boys; Bobby doesn't give a hot damn if he doesn't have the paperwork to back it up. A piece of paper could never prove what Bobby's known for over twenty years – that Sam and Dean are his responsibility. It's his job to be there for them, and he can't do that from a wheelchair. So if this witch with poker chips can give Bobby a shot of getting up out of this damned thing, that's a chance Bobby has to take. And if he loses, well, he's no good to Sam and Dean in this chair anyway. So what the hell.

* * *

"So, the last time I saw you two, you were considering never speakin' to him again," Bobby begins quietly, nodding toward the building where Sam is playing Texas hold'em against the witch while he tries to get enough DNA from him for the spell.

Dean's wrinkled face frowns at him. "What're you talkin' about?"

Bobby shoots him a no-nonsense look. "You thought you were hidin' it from me, right? Puttin' on a brave face for the poor old man who lost the use of his legs saving your dumb ass?"

Dean doesn't answer and Bobby shakes his head.

"Well, you weren't. The only person in the world who knows you better than me is Sam, and you weren't foolin' either of us. You were madder at him than I've ever seen you."

"Yeah, well, now I'm not," Dean says hotly.

"I can see that. You wanna tell me why?"

"Are you sayin' you think I should be?" Dean asks, glaring at Bobby – daring him to say _yes_.

"You wanna unbunch your panties, Princess? I'm just askin'."

Dean still eyes him for a minute, but then he sighs and rubs the back of his neck. "I guess we've had some time to figure things out."

"Figure what out?"

"Why this happened."

"Why he started the Apocalypse, you mean."

"He didn't," Dean grinds out, with another glare in Bobby's direction.

Even though he's gettin' attitude from Dean right now, Bobby's actually pleased with the way this conversation is going. If Dean's mad at Bobby for suggesting Sam did something wrong, that means he's gone back to the way he used to be; protective of Sam down to his last breath. _That's_ the man Bobby knows, the man he's been missing for the last year or so, even if he's in an old man's body right now. He's been watching them, he's seen the way Dean's started looking at Sam again. It's through the eyes of someone more than twice Dean's age, but Bobby can still see it. The soft, fond smiles; the way he _watches_ Sam, always the older brother, always making sure Sam isn't in any danger even when he has no reason to suspect Sam _is_ in danger. Bobby's been watching those expressions cross Dean's face since they day they met.

"Well the last time we talked you were sayin' he did, so why don't you fill me in on what's changed?"

"It's a long story."

Bobby shrugs. "We got time."

"Not that much time."

"So then give me the short version."

Dean nods, staring straight ahead out the windshield. "Okay. The short version is we got played. Both of us. We both turned on the Apocalypse, but neither of us realized we were doin' it."

"Played by who?"

"Angels, demons, you name it. Even God, maybe."

"You're still thinkin' that angel friend of yours was tellin' the truth about him existing?"

"I don't know why he would lie. He took my damn amulet, he sure as hell better have been tellin' the truth."

Bobby nods. He chews on the inside of his cheek and mulls all that over for a moment. "You were played _how_?"

"That's the long story part. Let's just say the angels weren't really tryin' to stop all this from happening. They just pretended they were, while they were actually doing everything they could to make sure Sam let the Devil out."

"Huh."

"What? You still think we should be pissed at him? It wasn't his fault, Bobby," Dean says, instantly defensive, and Bobby can't help smiling just a little – although mostly on the inside. The he drops it and gives Dean another hard look.

"Would you cut it out? I wasn't sayin' anything. Just try'na get my head around all this."

"Oh." Dean at least manages to look somewhat apologetic. "Sorry."

"So now, the two'a you are just good?" Bobby asks, a bit skeptical.

Dean shrugs a little and then pauses before answering. "It's not quite as simple as that, but yeah. We know we both screwed up. So instead of blamin' ourselves, we've decided to do our best to shut it back down."

"Sounds downright healthy."

Dean grimaces and then laughs a little. "I know. Gross, right?"

"A little. But hey, that sounds like good news on my end. You two knuckle-heads are lethal when you're on the same page and a hot mess when you aren't. So you know which way I'd rather you be swingin'."

"What about you?"

Bobby frowns. "What _about_ me?"

"Are you still in this with us? Even from a wheelchair?"

Bobby grinds his teeth and has no intention of answering that question, but then Dean's phone buzzes so he doesn't have to.

"That's Sam," Dean says, pressing a few buttons and then climbing gingerly out of the van to meet his brother in the alley. It's a damn good thing, too, because Bobby's pretty sure Dean wouldn't have wanted to hear what he had to say.

* * *

"Well, I guess we can get the van loaded." Bobby's still trying very hard not to laugh about Sam going off to be treated for the Clap. Poor kid.

Dean holds up a hand to stop him. "I shouldn't have called you an idiot."

"Which time?" Bobby asks flatly.

"I'm sorry. I mean, I actually, I … I get it. Gettin' old ain't a bachelor party."

Bobby rolls his eyes.

"And dealin' with the crap you gotta deal with – "

"Don't you go on pity patrol," Bobby interrupts.

"I'm not. I'm not, I'm just … I'm saying, you know, if I was in your shoes – "

"You'd never stop complaining."

Dean pauses and then admits, "Fair enough. You're not useless, Bobby."

Bobby feels his jaw start to tighten and needs this conversation to be over five minutes ago. "Okay. Good talk."

"No, wait a minute. Listen to me." Dean sits down in a chair so he's eye-level with Bobby. Bobby tries really hard not to be bitter that when this chick flick is over, Dean will be able to stand back up. "You don't stop being a soldier 'cause you got wounded in battle. Okay? No matter what shape you're in? Bottom line is, you're family. Now, I don't know if you've noticed, but me and Sam? We don't have much left. I can't do this without you. I can't."

There's truth and something else shining in his green eyes, and it cuts Bobby down to his core. It makes him feel weak; stupid. But it also makes him proud to think he had a hand in turning that kid – that goofy, stubborn, broken little kid who missed his mom and idolized his dad and loved the hell outta his baby brother – into the man Dean has become. He's a damn good man, and if Bobby had any part in that, maybe he's not so useless after all.

"So don't you dare think about checkin' out," Dean continues forcefully. "I don't wanna hear that again."

Bobby nods and feels like shit for scaring Dean. That's not what he's ever supposed to do. "Okay."

"Okay," Dean repeats gratefully. "Good."

"Thanks," Bobby mumbles honestly, and then adds, "Now are we done feelin' our feelings? 'Cause I'd like to get outta this room before we both start growin' lady parts."

Dean smiles a little and gets up. "Yeah. We're done." He goes over to grab his bag from the table, purposely leaving the half-eaten cheeseburger. He smiles mischievously, the five-year-old boy in him floating back to the surface for just a second, and says, "Let's go, Ironsides."

"Oh, that one's stickin', huh?" Bobby gripes. Dean just grins at him and heads for the car. It's not the most flattering nickname he's ever had, but he sees the way Dean teases Sam. He's relentless. So maybe that's just how Dean is with people he loves. And maybe Bobby doesn't mind so much.


End file.
